The Dark Prince (The Dark Light Series)(9)

My eyes widen with morbid curiosity. “Well, what is your style?”

Dorian scoffs before flashing me a sinister half-grin. “Let’s hope you never have to find out. I’m very good at what I do.” He brings the vial to my lips. “Now drink up.”

With a final deep breath, I let him tip the substance into my mouth. It’s sickly sweet and syrupy and I cringe a bit. A cool sensation sweeps through me, like winter in my veins. Yet, the cold evolves into a burn- a crackling fire in the midst of a snowstorm. It soothes and stimulates me all at once, sending my senses into a frenzy.

“Good girl.” Dorian shifts my body so that I am cradled in his arms, laying my cheek against his bare chest. “You will need to rest.”

“But I’m not tired,” I lie with a yawn.

Whatever was in that potion has suddenly intensified the fatigue. My eyelids feel like lead and even my breathing has grown deep and heavy. But I don’t want to sleep. I am afraid of waking up and finding that Dorian is gone. And all this- the reconstructed remains of our shattered relationship- really will be over. I need to see him, feel him in my arms, just so I know he is real. That what we have is real.

“Just keep talking to me,” I murmur lazily.

Dorian kisses the top of my head, his fingers twisting in the coils of my hair. “What do you want me to say, little girl?”

“Anything,” I breathe, letting my eyes close. I burrow my face into the smooth hardness of his bare chest and inhale his amazing scent. “Mmmm. Tell me a story.”

“A story.” Dorian squeezes me a bit tighter, holding me with such care. “Ok. You rest. I’ll talk.” I kiss his chest in response, smiling against his soft skin.

Dorian sighs heavily then begins his nostalgic tale in a distant tone. “A long, long time ago, there was a boy eager to become a man. But he was not the man that his father intended him to be. The boy was very rebellious, very spirited, yet very talented. He did not want to embrace the life that his father had mapped out for him. He wanted no part of the depraved role he was expected to fill. He rejected his destiny. This is virtually unheard of amongst his kind, especially considering his pedigree.

“The son strayed, choosing to pave his own way and make a name for himself through his own merit. And he did. Against all odds, the young man succeeded and was known for being an asset to the elite brotherhood of assassins he belonged to. He enjoyed it- the carnage, the brutality. He felt empowered; unstoppable. But soon, he realized he was becoming more and more like his father. He was embracing everything he sought out to avoid. Everything he fought like hell to reject.

“Soon the man was faced with a life-altering choice: defy his father, his people, and all he was taught to believe, or protect his friends and their unborn child. The young man knew what it meant to deceive his father; he knew he could never win. No one ever did. Yet, he chose the latter. He wanted to believe in something greater than the constant thirst for power and influence. He wanted to believe in something more substantial just as his friend had. He knew what this choice entailed. It meant that he would go up against the most powerful Dark force there was. He would defy his king. And no one defied the king and lived to tell about it. Not even his son, the Dark Prince.”

Before my weary mind can even begin to process Dorian’s sad, tormented tale, the heaviness of sleep blankets me, and I fall into the dark, warm depths of my subconscious mind.





Chapter Three




I stir awake, enraptured by complete darkness. The feel of slick satin against my bare legs informs me that I am in Dorian’s bed. He’s shed my rumpled clothing, draping me in what feels to be one of the satin nightgowns he purchased for me at Cashmere. My hands search for him in the space beside me though I know he isn’t there. The faint murmur of hushed voices wafts through the cracked bedroom door. One of the voices is a hitch-pitched soprano. Aurora. She’s here, and from the sound of it, urgently pleading with Dorian. Her shrill voice is agitated, exasperated. I place my feet on the ground then lift myself up, successfully muffling the creaks and squeaks of the bed.

Virtually silent, I tiptoe to the door. I can hear parts of their hushed conversation from several yards away. Dorian is standing at the French windows, looking out into the blackness of the night. He shakes his head, his stance tense and rigid. Aurora stands just a few feet away from him, facing his back. Her hands are on her hips and I can tell she has a serious attitude. I strain to hear the details of their exchange.

“How could you be so careless, Dorian? Do you know what your father will do to me if he finds out?” Aurora whispers fiercely.